


Homestuck-in-a-Chest (working title)

by A_Spy_on_Observation



Category: Homestuck, The Binding of Isaac (Video Game)
Genre: (that means probably unbeta'd), I have no shame, Self-Beta'd, Shits finally happening sorta, and im bad at it, baby's first fic, writing buildup is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-10-05 13:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10308689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Spy_on_Observation/pseuds/A_Spy_on_Observation
Summary: "Your useless flailing has knocked the monitor off the desk and onto your head. Now, it may be you brand new concussion seeing things, but it looks like there is text forming across the screen.Isaac and his bros lived alone in a small apartment in a highrise. Isaac kept to himself, drawing comics with his big bro and playing with puppets while his bigger bro mixed tracks from Christian broadcasts into his D.J. sets ironically. Life was simple, and they all were happy. That is, until bigger bro heard a voice from beside him…Ok, yeah, you can work with that."





	1. Chapter 1

?????? : Contemplate  
Ah, it seems that you have forgotten who you are and what you were doing, likely because of this sudden, incomprehensible narrative springing upon you from seemingly nowhere, like a leaper. Clearly the blood loss is setting in. fortunately, this is not the first time such a thing has happened, and you are sure that this will happen again in the future, so you know how to fix this. Now, concentrate and start from the beginning...  
?????? : Concentrate!

_Isaac and his mother lived alone in a small house on a hill. Isaac kept to himself, drawing pictures and playing with his toys as his mom watched Christian broadcasts on the television._

 

_Life was simple, and they were both happy._

 

_That was, until the day Isaac's mom heard a voice from above: "Your son has become corrupted by **sin...**_

 

?????? : Concentrate!  
Ah yes, now you remember!

==>  
your name is AZAZAL, and you have had a VERY bad day(?) it started off well enough with a lucky first floor knife, but after that, it’s been a heap of bad items and worse dodging to get you here, in sheol, before the boss door with only 1 1/2 hearts, and no other options. You suspect that your run is about to end in a painful manner, as you don’t expect to get past the fallen in there, but with no other hearts on the entire floor and no way to make any, you have no choice but to go on...

Azazel: Proceed (most likely to your doom)

As you step through the door you are faced with- WHO THE HELL IS THIS BITCH AND WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?!?

Azazel: Be the Bitch

Azazel? You are not familiar with that name, though it sound dark, intimidating and absolutely perfect for an evil minion. And speaking of minions, you are ROSE LALONDE and today is your 10th birthday. Your mother has prepared quite the abundance of petty trinkets wrapped in sickeningly bright pink wizard wrapping paper. If you have played your cards right, your mother should have passive-aggressively gotten you a summoning ritual kit under the pretense that a proper wizard needs an evil minion. You (not) pace around your room in anticipation, your preparations are nearly complete. All that is left to do, is wait for the sounds of drunken debauchery downstairs to die down, so you can make your move.

==>  
There it is. The gentle sawing logs of your mother's slumber is your signal to carry out your plan.

==>  
You creep down the stairs to the parlor carefully, as your mother, whom you note to be passed out on the couch, could waken at the slightest noise, and inspect the goods. tch, birthdays, a day to celebrate getting one year older, one more step towards the grave, so why would you celebrate it with such superfluous tidings such as gifts, simple material things of no value except what’s assigned to it by businesses who are only out to get money, which is also worthless except for the value assigned to it?

==>

... You think it has been too long since you had a proper conversation with john.

==>  
Anyway, back to the task at hand. You creep silently towards the utter mountain of hot pink, glitter and wizards to find your prize. If your calculations are correct, the summoning kit should be in the car-sized box wrapped in a priceless wizard tapestry.

==>  
You rip off the horrendous tapestry with great enthusiasm and- OH SHIT MOM!

==>  
It seems that you have gotten lucky, for instead of waking your mother in a shitstorm of passive-aggressive rage, the horrendous tapestry has simply covered your mother, like a hairy, grotesque blanket. It is sweet as it is mind-rendingly disgusting. You hate it.

==>  
With that settled, you turn to the OH GOD THERE'S MORE OF THEM!

==>  
it seems that the answer to the age-old question of "how many wizard tapestries is your mother willing to buy in your passive-aggressive war for superiority" is "all of them, no seriously, ALL OF THEM!". Ugh. after what feels like days of shifting through increasingly awful priceless pictures of excessively hairy men, you finally hit pay dirt, and all thoughts of wizards and revenge agents your mother for this infringement vanish. This is the moment, the ultimate move of passive-aggression agents your mother. You begin the ritual, absolutely nothing could ruin this day.

Satan: Ruin day  
You cannot be Satan, for only Satan can be Satan, and Satan doesn't like to share. For your transgressions, you get to be the little shit about to have his day ruined.

Azazel: Have day ruined.  
What? You don't know what you’re on about. you have had a surprisingly large amount of luck with the Satan fight so far, you managed to beat the fallen quickly, managed to dodge that brimstone-from-hands attack you don’t remember him having before, and you've gotten some good hits on his second phase already, so you have to say that your feeling rather con-  
*rectal summoning!*  
...fident.  
*leechSplosion!*

... Fuck.

==>  
As you watch your death rapidly approach in the form of Satan’s giant hoof you idly wonder what that full body tingling sensatio|\|++_ERR@!%#@^*)&%

==>  
ERR_404@!$#@%#!Az@$#%#@AZA1 n0% F)0UND

O.S. : H@rd CRRR#4SH to R*)0s3  
Y()u are now, f0r s() |\/|e r3as0n, ROSE LALOND3. You**$R not sur#3 whY*ERR* this is, b3Cau$e you are k!nd of Bus^#@Y at th3 m()M3nT as the R1**E#@#R*UA1 !s n()t as sT@*&B1#3 @Z*ERR*s y(0)U \/\/ ()uld prefer. Suddenly, the R!tU#@l^s c3nterstone gi ves off a blin@()&$%^%!+$^#(@^$--------

 

A Fatal Exception has occurred at ROSE_LALONDE in _SBURB. The current application will be terminated.

Writer: Be pissed as shit  
You cannot be pissed as shit as you don’t have feelings, however, until this mess is cleaned up, you have no choice but to be the Writer. And what a mess it is! Six years of hard work, compromise, and split-second decisions, all Lost! You have no doubt that, without the unique pretenses of your past-future selves’ death, at least something would have been salvageable from it, but no! Now you have Lost everything! Ah well, it’s not like there's anything more interesting to do in the Void Between Voids...

Writer: Enter name.  
No, you don’t have a name.

Writer: Enter name!  
I just told you I don't have a name.

Writer: Enter. Name.  
It seems that I must explain the situation to one whom has Witnessed it firsthand. You see, we are in the Void Between Voids, a place where the edges of different universes meet. this place is where the dying and dead fragments of doomed timelines end up, and I am here to salvage what I can of these dead fragments to keep my universe alive, as the alpha timeline of my universe died out eons ago. This place is all things, and nothing at the same time, and so am I. But, if you insist upon having something to call me by, then you may call me Blue.

Blue: Notice something different.  
Hmm? Oh, it seems that my universe has rather ungracefully collided with another universe, one that is not quite entirely created yet. If I had feelings, I imagine that I would be rather ashamed to have killed such a young thing, with such potential. Alas, I gave up such things a long time ago in the name of my universe's preservation. Let me see... interesting, it seems that this young universe may have some life left in it yet. Such potential, I am sure that sometime in the distant past I would have called such a thing beautiful, but now, all I see is a vessel for my universes continued preservation. It is convenient that all my previous work was erased in the accident, for I did not see how I could have worked this to my purpose otherwise. I must get to work rewriting the Binding of Myself, and this time, the Story shall have an acceptable outcome.

 

_Isaac and his ~~mother~~ bros lived alone in a small ~~house~~ apartment ~~on a hill~~ in a highrise..._

Writer: Be pissed as shit.  
Your name is ANDREW HUSSIE, and you are pissed as SHIT!!!!! Your idea, your precious universe, ERASED BY A CRASH!!! You’ve lost EVERYTHING!!! Your friends are no help, of course, they don’t understand, how could they understand, to have a glorious universe in the making one second, and to lose it all in the next! Everything is TERRIBLE!

A.H. : Quit your useless flailing long enough to notice something on the monitor!  
Your useless flailing has knocked the monitor off the desk and onto your head. Now, it may be you brand new concussion seeing things, but it looks like there is text forming across the screen.

 

_Isaac and his bros lived alone in a small apartment in a highrise. Isaac kept to himself, drawing comics with his big bro and playing with puppets while his bigger bro mixed tracks from Christian broadcasts into his D.J. sets ironically. Life was simple, and they all were happy. That is, until bigger bro heard a voice from beside him…_

 

Ok, yeah, you can work with that.


	2. Chapter 2

A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today is this young man’s “birthday”. Though it was 10(-ish) years ago he was given life, it is only today he will be given a name! What will the name of this young man be?

> Enter name.

ZOOSMELL POOPLORD

While that sounds like the utterly hilarious nonsense that your brother would cook up, it is not how he would prefer to be called for the remainder of his life. Please, try again.

LAZARUS EGBERT

Yeah, that sounds about right.

==>  
Your name is Lazarus. As was previously mentioned, it is your “birthday”, as in the day that you celebrate your DUBIOUS DATE OF BIRTH. You are ADOPTED, and as such, celebrate your birthday on the day your father found you. A number of cakes are scattered about your room. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE FLASH GAMES. You like to do woodwork, but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. You like to program computers, and you like to think you have a TALENT FOR IT. You are ANEMIC, and as such, you have a fondness for MEDICAL TEXTBOOKS, and you really, really LOVE PLAYING GAMES. What will you do?

Lazarus: Quickly retrieve arms from the chest.  
UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO YOU OPEN THE CHEST.

Lazarus: Examine latest programming project.  
Ah, yes, the Project. You were never really happy with the STACK FETCH MODUS of your CAPTCHALOUGE SYLLADEX, so you are trying your hand at programming one more suitable to your needs. It should be able to store anything, and pull it back out by typing in the name of the object into it. You think you have finally got it working. You install the PLATNUMLORDE MODUS into your SYLLADEX and captchalogue your favorite book, ROGER C CRAFT’S “A TEXTBOOK OF HUMAN ANATOMY 1966 EDITION”. Well it went in alright, now let’s try getting it out. Let’s see, R-O-G-E- ah, there it is.

Lazarus: Examine games folder.  
Heheheheh, you have all the best of the worst, Interactive Buddy, Boneless Girl, Hide the Fart, all six Crush the Castles, that one weird one where everything was in terrible French, and a few of the timeless classics too, like the first GemCraft, most of the pappa’s series, and first Castaway. You have worked long and hard to salvage these glorious artifacts of games made cheap, but it’s all been worth it.

Lazarus: Listen fondly to the haunting piano refrain.  
It sounds like your brother is playing the piano in the study. You have always liked it when your brother played the piano, even when he was just starting. His music has always had a haunting melody that resonated with you, like a memory just out of the reach of your mind… that reminds you! You really should get back to work on your other project.

Lazarus: Work on other project.  
Your other project has not been going as well as your personal project. You have been attempting to build a proper piano bench to give to your brother for his birthday. Their deceptively simple appearance hides a devilish balancing act of delicate materials and clumsy fingers that you have never managed to get just right. However, none of that matter at the moment, as you think you finally have this down. All that’s left is one. Final. Piece. Steady now, easy…

*CRACK* *CRUNCH* *VARIOUS SOUNDS OF DESTRUCTION*

OH DARN IT ALL!

Lazarus: Roll around on the ground and scream in a huge fit!  
While you’re certainly upset at several months work being turned into so many splinters, you’re much too old to be throwing such a childish temper tantrum. Besides with all the wood splinters everywhere if you went rolling around on the ground, you would probably cut yourself and that would be a Very Bad Thing.

Lazarus: Look out the window.  
Well, alright, but you don’t see the- ah, it seems that your brother is out by the mail box having an introspective moment while wearing something ridiculous. You should go down the stairs and investigate.

Lazarus: Go down stairs and investigate.  
Before you head down, you should probably grab your lucky walking stick. This stick is the result of your first (and so far only) successful woodworking project. It took many a week to carve the unseemly log into the beautiful masterwork before you, but to you it is a testament to the power of perseverance and patience. It’s also really handy to have around for those moments your shitty blood takes your head for a spin. You slip your stick into your staffkind strife specibus for easy access and head down the stairs.

==>  
Once down stairs your brother’s passing is glaringly obvious. There is burning paper in the fireplace, there is a rather intimidatingly large harlequin with your brother’s fake arms plastered onto its sides on the couch, and the sacred urn looks like it was knocked over and hastily swept back up. You are sure if your father saw this mess, he would be full of stern fatherly disapproval.

Lazarus: Examine large present.  
There is a large gift box with your name on it in the middle of the room. You are unsure if you wish to open the box, as you are fairly certain the large harlequin on the couch was the result of your brothers ventures into such territory, and you would rather not have another harlequin cluttering up the room.

Lazarus: Open the box anyway!  
You open the box to find the utility belt and power tools that you’ve been asking for!  
… all in that garish, harlequin diamond-y pattern(what is it called?!?) so you’d never be caught dead using it…

Lazarus: Go track down your brother.  
You pass by the kitchen on your way to the front door and hear the distinct sound of strife. It looks like while you were “admiring” your gifts your brother snuck back through the living room and into the kitchen. Good, the expanding tar pellets you snuck into the bag of cake mix that, by your calculations, should have just been used, should get them both.  
*SHHHHHH BANG!*  
Pfff,heheheheheheheh,ahahahahahah oh, ow your sides. Every year, you put up with your relation’s incessant pranking, a hobby that you have never really had the energy to uptake, and every year, you plot your yearly day of revenge. after all, in a family of pranksters, why bother with the bucket-on-the-doorframe gag or hand buzzers when you can put in a little extra effort, and absolutely cover your familiars in tar, slightly molten cake batter-  
*THUMP-BANG!*  
And, apparently, whatever they put in smoke pellets.

==>  
You suddenly hear the rapid steps of your brother scrambling for the door. You are certain that if your brother saw you standing there incriminatingly, you will also end up covered in various sticky substances. You captchalogue your newly acquired harle-drill, harle-saw, harle-trousers and their respective spare parts and speed back up the stairs and into your room.

==>  
Oh, ok, maybe running up two flights of stairs was not such a good idea. You rapidly pull out your walking stick to steady yourself. Good stick, best tool. It appears that someone is attempting to contact you through Pesterchum.

Lazarus: Investigate Pesterchum

\-- BasementBelligerence [BB] began pestering ResurrectionEqunox [RE] at N/a : N/a –-

BB: hey  
BB: oh my sweet jegus, have you *STILL* not set your rig’s clock yet?!?  
BB: lame, bro  
BB: lamer than a one-legged dodo.  
BB: flopping around uselessly  
BB: lookin all sad and dumb, ‘cause it’s a dodo  
BB: all like, “I live on a rock in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, there’s no food, and I’m wonderin why I’m dead.”  
RE: sounds like TG’ll make a proper strider out of you yet…  
BB: nah, man, BigBro would’ve made it rhyme and shit.  
BB: anyway, you said you’ve been working on a certain project for a certain SPECIAL SOMEONE, right?

Oh yeah, your OTHER-other project!

==>  
A while back, you managed to piss off this douchebag who typed in all caps enough to send you a “virus”. heh, thinking back on it makes you laugh, the idiot had sent you the raw data files, had left it in edit mode, and to top it all off, hadn’t even bothered to check to see if it was compatible with your system! Although, you shudder to think what the hell kinda system is compatible with the unruly loop-based language that you have painstakingly decoded from the dammed thing would look like… anyway, it looks like your best friend (and frequent partner-in-crime for your sweet annual day of revenge) has crossed paths with the douchebag as well.

==>  
RE: yeah, what about it?  
BB: buckets  
RE: what?  
BB: I’m tellin you man, make the Thing about filling buckets with multicolored fluid, he’ll flip his shit harder than a shitty sword in a microwave.  
RE: ok, 1) how the hell do you know that? And 2) how do you know that bit about swords in the microwave?  
BB: just trust me, man.  
BB: oh, and if you can make it fill the buckets with multiple colored fluids at the same time, that be even better!  
BB: o shit  
BB: BigBro’s lookin at me and givin me the Eyebrow  
RE: better go see what he wants.  
BB: yeah, see u ‘round, lazzy

\-- BasementBelligerence [BB] ceased pestering ResurrectionEqunox [RE] at N/a : N/a –-

RE: WHAT HAE I SAID ABOUT CALING M THAT, YOU ODUCHEBAG!!11!

==>  
My dear god, you love BB, he’s your best friend and you wouldn’t trade him for all the flash games in the world, but sometimes you swear, he’s gonna give you a brain aneurism and be the sole proprietor of your untimely death. Anyway, buckets, eh? You’ll have to scrap most of your code, but BB generally has a knack for this sort of thing, so you decide to roll with it. Hmmm…draw that sprite…link that loop to the life cycle of an african brain parasite… rig up a color cycler to the lifespan of bees born in the mummified corpse of a man in Michigan… idly think that perhaps it’s time to switch to a different source of toiletry reading’s other than 9001 Painful Deaths-By-Infestation…  
*THUD*  
The entire house shakes slightly as a massive sound reverberates from the other side of the wall you share with your brother… a wall that has gotten partially closer to you in a way that doesn’t suggest structural damage and has ripped your vintage con artist logo poster in half. Poor con artist, a smooth suave cat for the smoothest, suaviest, cats to ever grace flash programming, taken too soon… you think it’s time you went and gave your brother a piece of your mind…

==>  
As you enter your brother’s room, several things become imminently apparent. Your brother’s magic chest has gone missing, one of the windows has been smashed out, leaving quite the mess outside, there appears to be one of those machines professional woodworkers use to shape fancy table legs and things in the brand new corner of his room, and a large green cursor phasing in a pda and one of your brother’s books through the outside wall. You feel like today is going to be a very long day…

Lazarus: Interrogate older brother.  
As your brother captchalogues the fallen pda, you give him a hearty prod with your walking stick, successfully getting his attention. You ask him what the he-eak is going on. He responds that he’s playing a game with his friend rose. You ask him what kinda game causes spontaneous house renovations without asking permission from bystanding parties and rips poor innocent vintage posters in half. He goes red at that, hastily typing something to the other perpetrator of this horrendous poster murder. The green cursor come back, and attempts to pick up the strange woodcarver-looking device. It turns red upon selecting the device, and the device doesn’t go anywhere. Your brother, a very interesting shade of maroon now, reports that the device cannot be moved, and therefore, the wall cannot be restored. *sigh* you love your brother, you really do, but sometimes, he really is an idiot. Your brother asks you to help him investigate the other devices. Inferring that the “other devices” are the other loud, house-shaking thuds you hear coming from the living room and the balcony, and since there is nothing you can do about the wall debacle, you decide to go along.

Lazarus: Go out to the balcony.  
Out on the balcony is a large stage-like construct that has a smaller platform and a robotic arm-like structure attached to its side. Naturally, your brother decides to stand on it. You’d bet your entire game collection your brother’s friend with the pretty purple text just suggested caution. You repeat your idiot statement from earlier.  
A loud cracking noise attracts you and your brother’s attention. A quick investigation reveals a large hole where the toilet was just a few moments ago. Your brother decided to jump down the new passage way to the utility room. You decide to take the stairs like a sane, rational person. By the time you get down the stairs, your brother has grabbed the captchalogue card and sledgehammer there and has headed back to the living room. 

Lazarus and Co. : Investigate the cruxtruder.  
It looks like the unholy lovechild of a digital clock and an industrial smokestack. Further loud noises emanating from the bathroom suggest that your brother’s purple-texted friend is continuing her bathroom renovations. As you ponder the utter insanity going on around you, your brother is investigating the wheel on the device.  
*THUD*  
…there is now a bathtub on the stairwell… there is nothing more to say on the matter.

==>  
While you were distracted contemplating the tub in the stairwell, and how your gonna explain all this shit to dad, your brother has decided to hit the cap on the cruxtruder with the sledgehammer. The device shudders dramatically for a moment before the lid pops off, revealing a large, blue orb of light. Also, the digital clockfaces now show a countdown from 4:13, but that’s probably not important.

==>  
Your brother gives the handle another turn, and a strange, blue cylinder made out of a quartz-like material is ejected from the device. As you have no idea what the proper name for the cylinder is, you let your brother captchalogue it. The cursor returns, this time with a captchalogue card like object, punched out like some ancient piece of computer programming. Your brother captchalogues it, sending a piece of razor-sharp glass flying. The shard maims the harlequin on the couch, and nearly cuts you in the process. Normally, you’d yell at your brother for being careless, but he’s already moving for your father’s harlequin statuette collection, so you decide your limited energy supply is much better used ducking for cover.  
*SHENG-SLICE!*  
Your decision proves to be fortunate, as the harlequin on the couch now looks thoroughly maimed.

==>  
The cursor reappears once more, this time to deposit the thoroughly maimed harlequin into the ball of light. The ball of light now looks like a thoroughly maimed harlequin. Truly, much was accomplished by doing this.

==>  
Your brother has moved back out to the balcony. You follow him, in an effort to keep him from doing something stup- yup. There goes the pda… you take this moment to attempt to permanently implant your visage into the nearby wall. Honestly, why did your brother decide today, of all days, to attempt to use his sylladex. That never goes well… at least you get to see how this alchimiter works… so, if one were to put the blue cylinder thing into the woodcarving thing, one could conceivably make anything they wanted, so long as you have the right groove pattern… but how do you make the woodcarver thing work…? Wait, what is your brother looking at?

==>  
Oh. Oh my. And with this troubling development, your brother decides to high-five the light-harlequin-thing. Perfect.

==>  
Rushing back to your brother’s room, your brother takes a moment to imform his friends of your impending doom, then slides the captchalogue card like object into the slot on the woodcarver thing. Ah, so that’s how it works. In a sudden fit of genius, your brother places the blue cylinder into the machine and the machine imminently sets to work. Your brother contacts his friend in order to get further instruction as to what to do. There is a foreboding thump at the other side of the door. Sure enough, all attempts to open it fail. Fan-tastic.

…

What the hell have you gotten dragged into this time?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I know i'm most likely screaming a Delirium here (get it? screaming at the Void? IS A FAHNY JOKE!) but I suppose now is a good a time to put a disclaimer as any...  
>  if you recognize it, it belongs to Hussie (or McMillen)  
> if you don't recognize it, it belongs to Hussie (or McMillen)  
> we cool now?

A young lady stands in her bedroom. Due to a violent storm, her house has just lost power, along with her wireless internet connection. This has severed her link to a popular video game she was playing with a young man at a critical moment. That young man is relying on this young lady to reestablish a connection somehow. This young lady named…  
Named…  
It’s on the tip of your tongue. What was the name of this young lay again?

> Enter name.

FLIGHTY BROA- *BWOOOOOR*

It seems that something ~~small and adorable~~ dark and intimidating has taken offense on the young lady’s behalf.

==>  
Your name is ROSE LALONDE. As was previously mentioned, you are without ELECTRICITY, although your LAPTOP COMPUTER still functions on BATTERY POWER. You have a variety of INTERESTS. You have a passion for RATHER OBSCURE LITERATURE. You enjoy creative writing and are SOMEWHAT SECRETIVE ABOUT IT. You have a fondness for the BESTIALLY STRANGE AND FICTITIOUS, and sometimes dabble in PSYCHOANALYSIS. You also like to KNIT, and your room is a BIT OF A MESS. And on occasion, if just the right one strikes your fancy, you like to play VIDEO GAMES with your friends. What will you do?

Rose: retrieve arms from the purple box.  
You casually nudge the highly conspicuous purple box into your open music cabinet and shut and lock it. A dark shape dives down from above onto a pair of equally conspicuous journals and hides them in the dark shadows of the rafters. Good younger sibling. Best evil minion.

Rose: inspect evil minion.  
You direct your gaze upward to the perfect specimen of ~~Fluffy~~ Evil above you. With a pair of massive bat-like wings, ~~widdle~~ regally pointed ears, and a mouth full of ~~tiny, kitten-like~~ terrifying fangs, he is a perfect minion for an evil mastermind, which is you. He is currently staring at you in an expectant manner you would swear to gods both holy and demonic he picked up from your cat.

… You have no idea why he is currently wearing one of your nightgowns, however.

==>  
Inspection of the lesser Lalonde concluded, you decide that now is the perfect time to play a haunting refrain on your violin. Bat-minion grins, a shiny crescent on a field of the black of the darkest of nights, and climbs to the spot in the rafters he prefers to use to work on overly-complicated clockwork gadgets. As you begin to play you hear the sound of a key being turned in an overly-complicated clockwork device, and then you waste approximately 40 seconds playing a haunting refrain on the violin with an equally haunting music box accompaniment.

Lazarus: gape in horror at the spectacle.  
You take a brief break from being you in order to have the unique view of your older brother kissing his posters of various terrible movies. You decide that now is the uniquely opportune moment to pass out in a dead faint.

==>  
You grab your knitting bag and take a quick glance out the window. Your panoramic window offers a view of the pouring rain, the mausoleum holding your dead cat, Jaspers, which your mother had oh so scornfully erected at your request to have a funeral for him, and the ominously shadowed laboratory in the distance. Said ominous laboratory is also likely broadcasting a powerful wireless internet connection, yet your current location is not receiving any signals. Perhaps a change in elevation is in order?

==>  
On your way out, you grab and store both your laptop and your copy of “the Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious” before heading out into the hallway, minion following in your shadow. Face scrunching in distaste at an exquisite wizard painting, you stealthily make your way down the hallway, ever wary for the erratic behavior of your feminine caretaker. You carefully sidle up to a juncture in the hallway, well aware that the shadowy depths of the byway is a favorite lurking spot of your mothers. In a burst of silent speed, you race across the gap and proceed unnoticed.

… at some point during your trek, your minion took a commanding perch upon your shoulder, near-weightlessness (and presumably, magics of the darkest kind) allowing him to go unnoticed.

==>  
Once on the outdoor walkway to the observatory attached to the house, your minion makes a good use of his perch by using his impressive wingspan as an umbrella/windbreaker for you both. Have you mentioned you have the best minion?

==>  
Once inside, you withdraw your laptop (and inevitably spill your inventory all over the floor) and take a quick peek through the observatory’s giant telescope. Your minion, having taken a far more commanding perch on the underside of the telescope, looks out as well, him preferring to use his rather formidable eyesight. You find a gap in the clouds. A flurry of meteorites streaks steadily overhead. You’re not entirely sure what it means, but, judging from the caught-somewhere-between-angry-cat-and-panicking-bat sound emanating from your minion, it is something to be worried about.

==>  
Deciding to stack your laptop on top of your Grimoire for maximum elevation, you try the connection. Upon seeing your laptop screen flick on, your minion drops down from his perch and start fiddling with his SILVERTOUNGE TUMBLER modus. Locking in the hefty 7-digit code like it was second nature, he pulls out a small aluminum-brass cube. With a feat of dexterity you are fairly certain only one with six limbs could pull off, he unfurls the cube into a proper desk with inbuilt lamp, tape dispenser and pencil sharpener. Looking smugly pleased with himself (another trick you swear Jaspers taught him) he decaptchalogues a very conformable-looking chair and places it behind the desk. Unfortunately for him, he never saw the scritches that turned him into a puddle of utterly content anthropomorphic-bat-sibling in your lap coming. Connecting into a suspiciously unlocked signal, you reconnect to John. He, of course, sends a panicked reply almost imminently. Carefully nudging him upon the right course to take, you then use the oh-so-eloquent controls to rip the door off its hinges, much to the amusement of your minion, who has returned to his perch upon your shoulder. Switching the viewpoint to John’s balcony, you store the perfectly useless blocks you made earlier in the Phernalia Registry, allowing the Alchemiter to produce the prepunched apple just in time to-  
*KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!*  
Ignoring the pure-bat panic squeals of your minion as he swoops around flash-blind, you type a hasty message to John, hoping agents hope that your eyes deceived you.


	4. Chapter 4

Lazarus: Awaken.  
You awaken from your floor nap. Errgh, now you remember why you hate fainting, you always wake up so stiff and- hey, when did it get so dark out? You decide to investigate this new situation, passing by your brother who’s wandering about looking a little bit out of sorts. Deciding to begin your investigation in your room, you open the d-ASDFGHENK

==>  
Recovering from your impromptu petrol bath, you decide that solo exploration is probably bad for your health. Wandering out to the balcony, you see your older brother having an argument with (seemingly) himself. He walks out upon a newly created platform to retrieve the pda. Again. A quick conversation with rose, and he heads back towards the balcony. Wait, what is he doing? Is he thinking about- OH HELL NO!!! As you head out onto the physics defying platform to manually administer some Common Bloody Sense, you catch him mutter something snarky about a turnip truck before he starts heading back. Well, that was nice of him, you didn’t fancy your odds with the plank anyway.

==>  
Hearing a cacophony emanating from the kitchen you and your older brother head down the stairs to find the green cursor downstairs attempting to put a box of cake mix into the harlequin light thing. Naturally, john protests vehemently. The sprite is dodging expertly. You would too, if you risked becoming part unmixed cake (and possibly tar) at the whims of some douche-cursor. Suddenly, john starts flailing about in a distracting manner. If the intent of this was to catch the sprites attention, it seems to have work-nope. There it goes. The cursor drops the hefty tome it had been hefting, causing a minor quake. There is an electric- power-upy noise from the living room, but when you go and investigate, there is nothing to be seen. A quick message from rose and you and john attempt to head up the stairs. The keyword being attempt because as you head towards them, you hear a lighthearted chuckle that sounded suspiciously like “Hoo-Hoo-Hoo”. Your probably just hearing things, the only person you know of that has that laugh is dead.

==>  
AnyHoo, you head out to the balcony, where the green cursor begins to lift the-  
*CRASH*  
*CREEAK*  
*CRUMBLE*  
-car. 

==>  
Deciding that watching your brother flail around on an ancient piece of communications technology is not quite as important as certain crises happening elsewhere, you decide to take a break from being you (however that works) to deal with them. You are now ROSE LALONDE. Your laptop is out of power, there are meteors striking at the frequency of rain out in the forests surrounding your house, bringing with them a fire the rain cannot put out, and your minion is currently trying to bury himself into your hair. The only option that you have is to head out to Jasper’s Mausoleum, where the backup generator resides. 

==>  
Placing a knitted laptop cozy on your laptop, you briefly consider placing the Grimoire in your strife specibus. This is, of course, a terrible idea, there are forces out there that are beyond your control, beyond your comprehension even, and to mess with them (again) would be decidedly Bad for Your Health. The demonic sibling currently giving you the Cat patented Look-Of-Silent-Judgement for even considering that course of action can attest to that. You decide instead to place your knitting needles into the specibus instead.

==>  
Deciding to consult the Grimoire after a strange urge to knit a “cuddle-Cthulhu”, whatever that is, you casually flip through the book until coming to the page that once held some rather obtuse instructions for summoning the zoologically dubious, but now holds what you think is a rather lengthy and scathing rant as to the intelligence of the authors of the book in your brothers neat handwriting. It is a shame that you can’t make heads or tails of what it says. Honestly, what does _“tu minus sapiencia quam bestiolam tenes”_ mean anyway? Anyway, you captchalogue your stuff and head back out into the pounding rain.

==>  
You wonder if this rain will ever let up. It's driven since the month began, perhaps long enough to forget its purpose. It no longer even knows to assuage fire. Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton. How you hate this season.

==>  
Stepping back into the house, you steel yourself. Surly your mother is lurking nearby, you should be prepared for an unpleasant confron-

_PSYCHE!!!!! DAT’S DA **WROOOOOONG** NUMBAH!!!!!!_

 

There’s these really cool dudes, ok? They’re standing around being all chill, like cool dudes are known to do sometimes. Cool dudes like these have to have some real cool names, but they probably not tell you if they asked. They’d be way too busy for that. Busy being totally sweet. But you could always try to guess their names. And if you’re right, they might nod their heads ever so slightly. That's a cool dude's way of letting you know there might just be hope for you yet.

> Enter name

INSUFFERABLE PRI-*SHENG*

Your bro doesn’t have time for that sort of shit, and neither do you.

> Try again.

ISAAC STRIDER

Yeah, that’s you.

==>  
Your name is Isaac. It is an unseasonably warm day, which, no matter how much your BigBro complains, doesn’t say much about a city that could bake one day, snow the next, and then go right back to baking again the day after. The bedroom window is open and the fan is cranked. You could say that a natural 20 fireball aint got nothing on today’s weather, which brings you to your interests. Like any strider, you have a penchant for spinning out the sickest of beats on your mixing gear. You like to play tabletop games that no one has heard of but you. You collect obscure dice that no one knows what they belong to or how their used. You like to draw ironically terrible art, and post it online on your bros various blogs, websites and social networking profiles. And, when the mood strikes you, you won’t hesitate to drop some phat rhymes on a mofo and represent. Or at least try, anyway, you happen to be terrible at rhyming. What will you do?

Isaac: Quickly retrieve arms from cinderblocks.  
Nah.

Isaac: examine game beta.  
While BigBro is off scavenging through the closet, you decide to get a better look at the game beta that came in the other day. While all you can see is the rather plain beige packaging, you cannot help but to get a shiver down your spine while looking at it. You have no idea why, but you have felt wary since the beta found its way into your apartment. It’s almost like your entire life is on the precipice of some huge cliff, just waiting for an excuse to go over… but that’s just crazy talk. There’s no way that some shitty building game is gonna throw your life into turmoil, right? With that mess of feels out of the way, you decide to hook up your programming friend with some sick info on that shouty douchebag that’s been antagonizing him for a while.

Isaac: pester friend.  
(this conversation already happened, go to the conversation starting with:  
BB: hey  
BB: oh my sweet jegus, have you *STILL* not set your rig’s clock yet?!? )

==>  
You get up from the computer with a smirk at your BigBro’s prompting. Heh, RE’s pretty smart, you’ll give him that, but he never sees that one coming, and it never ceases to be funny. While your BigBro’s busy pestering his friend, you decide to break out your phone and check on your latest pieces of “art”. Pff, the gullibility of some people, belivin somethin that shitty can be drawn with any kind of sincerity. Hell, the only thing more ironic than these is the latest Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff your BigBro cranked out. That shit’s irony personified, yo.

==>  
Suddenly, some suave-ass music starts blarin from the computer speakers. You look over and yup, your Bro booted up the best damm webcomic in existence in your humble opinion. Funny, you woulda sworn the music for act 1 was different from that, but then again, it’s been awhile since you’ve seen act 1, so it’s probably just your imagination.

==>  
Sadly, the antics of spades slick and the rest of the gang are interrupted by a rude as fuck pesterchum ping. Damm, that purple-text sure is snarky. Snarkier than a boat fulla space elves, all snarkin it up like…. Uh… fuck.

==>  
Quick, you need to hide the shame you brought upon the Strider name! You quickly be LAZARUS and what the hell was that?

==>  
Well. That’s. Disgusting, and mildly concerning, all things considered.  
Further investigations into the hallway reveal the floor and walls to be thoroughly sloshed with oil and tar. Unfortunately, most of the trails come from places other than your room.

==>  
Before you can contemplate the implications, you are ISAAC and awwww yeah, it’s time to throw down some sick jams. You dig your MIDIFLYER 1999 out of a pile of puppet, and throw the fuck down with BigBro. Bro cracks open an apple juice and… just stares at it. Sigh, he’s been talkin to John hasn’t he? Sigh, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that john was out for your Bro with all the stupid ideas he puts in his head. Bro captchalogues one of his swords and- ohhhh, damm.

==>  
While your Bro wanders off to get something to clean up the mess, you keep mixing up sweet tunes. Let’s see here, start with a driving beat, add some bike bell… a little bit of percussion… oh, how about some of that ghosty- as-fuck wailing that’s sure to get an eyeroll outta Bro!... aaand its done, your perfectly ironic masterpiece is now complete! Your not really sure why this particular piece is the Crème de la Irony, but you can feel it deep down that this, this is the crowning jewel in your quest for the deepest echelons of irony. And just in time too, Bro just walked in with the towel and cleaned off his gear! While Bro is distracted screwing around with the fan and shit, you jump back onto the computer to upload your new track to the shittiest sound clips sites you can find. Huh, now it’s your turn to get your shit interrupted by a rude-ass chum.

> answer chum

\-- CorbeauxdeVengeance [CV] began pesteringBasementBelligerence [BB] at 12 : 28–-  
CV: Strider  
CV: Strider, I swear to god, if you don’t pick up right now, I will send Dave a whole cargo crate of dead birds and say it was from you.   
BB: damm, CV, what the hell died, got taxidermied, crawled up your ass, and died again?   
BB: I mean  
BB: I thought you thought religion was a load of bs and shit.   
CV: BR has given me sufficient proof as to the existence of dark, otherworldly forces that could easily qualify the requirements to be “god-like”   
CV: Therefore, that statement could apply to any one of them.   
BB: but you weren’t thinking of any of those assholes when you said that, were you?   
CV: …  
BB: B)   
CV: See, this is exactly why I need your assistance  
BB: oh?   
CV: There is an asshole with a truly nauseating typing quirk.   
CV: He contacted me while I was asleep.   
BB: o damm  
CV: And then proceeded to insult Science, Engineering and Sis in as many sentences.   
BB: damm^2  
BB: but how does this concern me any?   
CV: I’ve managed to get him snagged on the topic of his nonsensical religion.   
BB: and you want me to  
CV: Tear his pathetic beliefs into so much confetti before his eyes?   
CV: Yes.   
BB: and now you’re pulling your sister’s sthick.   
BB: woulda sworn completing other people’s sentences before they do is copyright Jade Harley   
CV: It was not precognition on my part, no.   
CV: I’ve simply come to know you well enough to predict what you will say next.   
BB: so cold, CV  
CV: I never claimed to be a nice, likable person.   
CV: You know that.   
CV: But you stick around anyway.   
BB: *shrug* guess you’ve grown on me  
BB: like a fungus  
BB: so much shrooms they’re takin over my mind  
BB: and  
BB: shit  
CV: Mediocre, 4/10  
BB: oh screw you. 

\-- BasementBeligerence [BB] ceased pestering CorbeauxdeVengeance [CV] at 11: 41 –-

==>  
Damm, there goes your system clock again. Ah well, you have other business to attend to. Such as that unfamiliar tag that’s currently pester- ahem, trolling you.

\-- TerminallyCapracious [TC] began trollingBasementBeligerence  [BB] at 11:41—-  
TC: sO YoUrE tHe MoThErFuCkEr ThAt WaS AlL Up AnD cUrIoUs AbOuT tHe MeRcIfUl MeSsIaHs


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's not as long as I like, but I wrote this while sitting at an airport about to head overseas, so a patch job will have to do.

You are now ROSE LALONDE, and you are preparing to descend the stairs to your living room. You are standing eye-to-eye with a familiar foe, a 20-foot tall granite statue of the mighty wizard, ZAZZERPAN THE LEARNED. Your mother had him installed through a hole in the roof with a heavy-duty crane. Just look at that mystical gaze. To peer into those aloof, glassen eyes is to arrest the curiosity of any mortal. To behold the wisdom concealed in the furrows of-  
*BWOOOOOOOR*

*BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOR*

*HISSSSSS!!!*

You find this grisly abomination almost as utterly detestable as your minion does.

 

Rose: Psychoanalyze mother's love of wizards.

There is nothing to psychoanalyze. Your mother clearly has no real affinity for these damnable things. She only collects them to spite you. Or maybe she collects them to spite your minion…  
No. we are not going down that path again. That road leads to dark rituals and you would really prefer to not try your luck on the demon roulette again.

  
You descend to the living room area of your home's expansive open layout. There is the sound of rushing water beneath the floor. It would be almost inaudible to you if it weren’t for the slight shiver your minion gives on your shoulder. You glance over to your minion to find a slightly apprehensive look upon his face, as if the sound of inexplicitly rushing water brings back a foul memory one cannot quite remember…

Rose: View Mother's solid copper vacuum statue.

Ok, but its bronze, not copper! But it wasn't always. A while ago you gave this as an ironic gift to your MOM for mother's day. You even customized it with a drink holder to support one of her ubiquitous alcoholic beverages. She "liked" the gift so much, she had it bronzed and put on this pedestal. She even left it plugged in so it can still be turned on now and then. But never to do any cleaning. It never leaves this display. Sometimes, at night when you are in your room, you can hear it wailing from downstairs. It often leaves you with a fuzzy, horned bundle attached to your side for the night. She’s completely deranged. You spare the Eldritch Princess doll a quick glance as you acquire the nearby umbrella, and then proceed into the kitchen.

Rose: peek into the kitchen.

The liquor bottles are out in full force. Mom is surely nearby.

Rose: Investigate refrigerator  
Ah, yes, the Fridge. This less-than-humble kitchen appliance has serves as the battlefield for a chilly siege of passive-aggressive one-upmanship for many a year. Here is a drawing you did of your cat JASPERS when you were younger, along with a poem about him. Your mother bought this ostentatious $15,000 frame for it, and had it welded to the door. Using the colorful magnet letters, you recently left a succinct message, which may or may not have been directed toward anyone in particular. Looking back at it, calling that woman a shrew was an insult to the humble garden pest. But you couldn't find the letter W, so you just stuck two V's together.  
Your mother then purchased a fresh pack of W's and left them there for your convenience.  
Appreciative of the thoughtful gesture, you left her a sincere thank you note, which you had legally notarized, and then marked with a drop of blood.  
But part of it was touching the floor, so your mother was kind enough to lift the lower portion of the document with a velvet pillow.

Rose: Attach a W to face as a fake moustache.  
This is incredibly silly, and does nothing to advance any of your plans, but sometimes it's impossible to resist the urge to be silly, especially when no one is watching. Your minion has managed to stick the remaining magnets all over himself, somehow. 

Captchalogueing the magnet, you contemplate what should be done to regain the upper hand in the war of the Fridge. Perhaps slipping a fresh doily under the pillow will do the trick? Or maybe spilling a bit of Worcestershire sauce on it, and then having it dry-cleaned and returned along with a laboriously ingratiating apology note? No, there's no time for anything like that. Or maybe (just thinking out loud here) you could use the entire pack of W's as M's? Oh yes, that would burn.But you've already done something with that W pack, and there's no need to go back and gild that lily. This is delicate business. And that pillow is screaming for rebuttal. You captchalogue the pillow with the plan to embroider a poem in praise of motherhood on it. with that finished, you head ouARGH! 

==>  
You don't know how she does that. You're never safe in this house. the worst part is that whenever she appears, your minion disappears into the rafters. And of all things to be doing during a power outage. She's up to her IRONIC HOUSEWIFE routine again. That mop bucket doesn't even have any water in it! What an absolute madwoman. You leap over the counter in a maneuver not out of place in one of daves less broken video games purchases and land back in the living room and bowl through a collection of wizard statues. As expected, your minion has rematerialized on your shoulder. Lousy stupid goddamm wizards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, after I get back, I should have my life cleared up to start updating on a semi-consistent basis! I should be able to get a chapter out in the third week of every month, barring life coming out of the woodwork with an axe.
> 
> Feel free to comment, ask questions, share crazy ideas that "will never work" down below!!


	6. Chapter 6

Your name is ISAAC, and you may have just driven an Insane Clown Posse fanboy into a deeper spiral of madness. Or maybe just made a cult about weird cat science. Ah well, it’s not like that will ever come to bite you in the ass. It looks like bro’s pesterchum tab is about to do a magnificent pirouette off the handle, so you hand off the computer to your bro and admire the gaffer tape patchjob on the window. Damm, that is some fine-ass taping if you do say so yourself, and you have bags of dice made of nothing but the stuff.

==>  
Deciding that hanging around the bedroom’s getting boring, you grab your phone to keep in touch with your bros… and promptly decaptchalogue a broke-as-fuck pocket watch you have been pointedly avoiding your batbro’s questions about. Now there’s a watch-shaped hole in the outer wall that you’re pretty sure that gaffer tape won’t fix. SO. COOL.

==>  
While you ~~freak out~~ are totally chill with the situation, The perspective abruptly changes for no apparent reason. You are now LAZARUS. You and your brother have entered back into his room In pursuit of the culprit behind the tar on everything. You continue your investigation as your brother takes another message on the pda. You are starting to worry about his health, ever since you both entered this crazy dimension he’s been acting…strange. Stranger than usual, even. You hope he doesn’t need medical intervention, because- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!?

Lazarus: inadvertently stumble into combat.  
Your name is ROSE and you would bet good money that’s what you just did as your roll towards the front door is interrupted by a pair of infuriatingly familiar legs. Yup, as expected, your mother is blocking the front door. Clearly there is only one way to settle this:

STRIFE!

>AGGRIEVE  
You lunge forward in an attempt to impale the women in front of you upon your trusty needles. Naturally, she dodges every single jab of your rather impressive combo- 

AUTO-PARRY!

…before following up with a well-placed thrust of her martini glass which sends you sprawling.

>AGRESS (PASSIVE)  
You lunge forward as if to strike once more, before feinting and jabbing your needles into the power socket of the brass vacuum in an impressive show of suicidal tendencies. Or at least it would be, if your needles weren’t made out of plastic.

>ABJURE  
Your mother steps aside revealing her latest passive-aggressive scheme; a beautiful white pre- adolescent horse. This ironic gift will be in need of rebuttal at a later date.

>ABSTAIN  
Your mother thrusts her martini in your face, the foul-smelling liquid forcing you to fall back. You grab for one of the nearby alcohol bottles in an attempt to knock the damm thing out of her hand, but before you do, a dark shadow leaps to your rescue.

AUTO-ZAZEL!!!

Your mother beats a hasty retreat back to the door as her drink barely dodges an untimely end at the hands of the beam of power erupting from your minion.

>AZAZAL  
You are now AZAZAL LALONDE, and you have just fended off the strange beast from feeding your adoptive matron a truly virulent poison, if the smell is anything to go by. You take a moment to feel pleased by this, as the strange beast disengages your matron and goes back to… whatever its doing. There is no doubt in your mind it would take a fully-Ascended seer to decipher the machinations of the strange beast’s mind. You settle down in an adequately shaded perch near the ceiling of the leisure hall, and watch as your matron investigates the four-legged thing the strange beast has brought into the home-territory. She approaches it with begrudging acceptance, a commonplace reaction to the strange beast’s shenanigans. Your matron appears to mutter something to the four-legged thing in her native tongue (which you still haven’t figured out yet, bless it) before heading towards the rear entrance of the home-territory.

Azazel: follow matron.  
You cannot follow the matron, for you are LAZARUS, and you are currently staring in minor horror at the… thing that just erupted from the sludge on the floor. With bulging yellow eyes, large, vicious looking fangs and an evil glare staring you down, it clear that this pile of goo has no good intentions for you. Drawing your staff, you leap forward to hit the thing with a crushing overhead strike when it puffs up an vomits a ball of hot tar at you which hits you square in the chest and sends you flying and _oh god it burns_ -

Rose: exit.  
You exit through the back door as planned. You spare a glance at the smoking remains of the transformer that once powered the house. It appears to have been struck by lightning. You idly wonder if your mother has any plans to fix it, then cut off that train of thought right there, for that way lies madness. Honestly, you swear it takes a whole army of professional psychologists to understand what’s going on in that women’s head. You can see the mausoleum and the backup generator across the backyard. Deciding that the weather is far too extreme to take advantage of the minion-umbrella, you decaptchalogue a regular umbrella instead… and dump the rest of your sylladex all over the yard. You gather up the rest of your sylladex and begin your soggy journey to the mausoleum.

Lazarus: Arise.  
You are LAZARUS, and clearly you’ve gone delirious, as you should really be in more pain after having you chest seared medium-rare. Nonetheless, you stand back up and give that blob-monster some retribution. You swing your staff around like your some kinda crazy kung-fu master and expertly dodge the next blob it spits at you. You fail to dodge the follow-up body slam, though.

Rose: forget the magnet and make haste to the mausoleum.  
Retrieving the magnet never even crossed your mind. It’s just a stupid magnet. Besides, you have more important issues to be concerned with. Such as not losing the umbrella. Or not falling on your face because of the sibling that currently attached to your front like a fuzzy, terrified fanny pack.

Lazarus: FINISH HIM!!!  
You recover quickly from the blow, giving the thing a few more blow before accidently opening up your sylladex just as it fires another shot at you. Your sylladex absorbs the shot, and then spits out the textbook you still had selected like a cannon shot. Both monster and textbook detonate on impact, sending tar and paper everywhere, leaving some fruit gusher-looking things that are probably important to the game that your brother and his purple-text friend are playing. From the mess, it looks like your brother has also conquered his own monster. With that out of the way, you decide to address you no doubt ruined… chest. Ok. So. One of those things the monster dropped is capable of healing grievous injuries, apparently. You still need a new shirt, though. You decide to watch your brother dramatically put his gift stage-prop rabbit back into the box it came in, instead.

LEVEL UP!!!!

CLIMBED TO RUNG: LATE ARISER!

GEL VISCOSITY: +3  
CACHE LIMIT: +10

CLIMBED TO RUNG: DE-MOURNER!

GEL VISCOSITY: +6

CACHE LIMIT: +20

BOONDOLLARS AWARDED: +250!

Huh, looks like you’re just as much a part of the game as everyone else. With that sobering piece of information, you decide to go to your room to find a shirt for your now very cold chest.

Rose: Hurry and activate the generator!!  
You fire up the generator and drag a cable into the mausoleum. It would be foolish to run a generator in an enclosed space. Generator safety is everyone’s business. Quickly pushing aside jasper’s coffin, you place your laptop on the funerary table and fire it up. Dave notices your online status almost imminently and pesters you like clockwork. Ignoring him for now, you turn your attention back to john’s screen and- hey, didn’t you oh-so-eloquently ripped that door off its hinges not too long ago? Before you can contact john about it, he grips the door handle and gets a bucket of water dumped on his head for his trouble. As you process this unexpectedly comedic turn of events, a great hooting laughter emanates from your laptop’s admittedly subpar speakers and fills the mausoleum with its mirth.


	7. Chapter 7

Madwomen: be interrogated.  
You are now the entity known as NANNASPRITE, and my, what a handsome young man young John has grown into! A strong chin, bright eyes, just as blue as you remember from your brief time with him before your fiery demise, and arms with the beginnings of the family’s strength budding within, he’s practically the spitting image of your son at his age!!! But enough reminiscing, there is much to be discussed, and very little time in which to discuss it in!

==>  
One exposition into the nature of the game later, you turn to float away in search of baking supplies when suddenly, an unexpected guest appears!!! Well, appears is a bit of an exaggeration, for he was standing in the far part of the room through the whole conversation! With a shock of red hair, tired eyes, and the unmistakable aura of power-yet-realized, he is clearly a Player, but there’s no way a Player could have traversed the Second Gate already, is there? Well, your questions won’t answer themselves, and it’d be awfully rude to not introduce yourself to your guest!

NANNASPRITE: And who might you be, dear?  
LAZARUS: Huh? Oh! Lazarus, Lazarus Egbert.  
NANNASPRITE: Egbert, eh? Hoo Hoo Hoo! And who is the young vixen who became enamored with my son?  
LAZARUS: umm… no, ah… no mom. I’m adopted…  
NANNASPRITE: well, that’s a shame! For a moment I thought someone finally caught his eye! He always was so adamant about maintaining his virtue for “the one”, he was! And you’re so thin! Has he not been feeding you right? I might have to have words with him!  
LAZARUS: nono, he’s been feeding me well, it’s just…complicated….  
NANNASPRITE: well, clearly your life is in need of more cookies. Don’t worry, dearie, I’ll be right back with the solution for this problem! Hoo Hoo Hoo!

==>  
Well, that was certainly unexpected! Another grandson! Who would of thought!!! Although you clearly owe your son a good pie-ing for the lack of telling you about it in person. But enough of that for now! There are cookies to be baked, information to be exchanged, and intruders to be mercilessly slaughtered!!!

==>  
Your name is LAZARUS EGBERT, and you just met your dead grandmother for the first time. Wow, that’s a little weird when said outloud in your head. John is currently throwing a fit over the promised cookies. You don’t really know what his deal over Betty Croker is, the company produced perfectly serviceable quick baking mixes, and while there not nearly as good as proper made-from-scratch cooking, they taste perfectly fine to you. Wow, he’s still going. You consider giving him a prod from your walking stick, but Rose beat’s you to it and bats him over the head with an empty box. With no effect. And now your brother’s head is firmly jammed in a pillow. At this rate you’re a little concerned he will end up accidently suffocating in his stint. And now he’s running around the room screaming. Just what is driving him to this level of temper? It’s clearly not just the baking…

Lazarus: be the perpetrator.  
You cannot be the perpetrator, for the perpetrator is currently enamored with a book on proper etiquette, you can, however, be Rose.

Lazarus: be Rose  
You cannot be this Rose, for she is busy with writing a rather important document! You can, however, be Several-Months-Ago Rose.

Lazarus: be Several-Months-Ago Rose.  
You are now ROSE LALONDE, and you have just engaged in a conversation with a long-time internet friend who lives out in the middle of nowhere, who also seems to always know things she really has no business knowing. Which is not weird and creepy at all. And now you cannot spare a thought to that anymore, for your minion is eyeing your brand new knitting kit with a wide-eyed look that you know spells nothing but trouble. Azazel Lalonde, I know what you’re thinking, you better not do it! Don’t you dare, don’t you- he did it anyway. Now you must focus all your efforts at detangling your minion from the yarn that is now literally everywhere.

==>  
Snapping back to reality, you are ISAAC, and you have just patched the wall with ancient-as-fuck plaster of Paris you found at the bottom of a pile of puppet. You grab the WOODEN BUCKLER SHEILD beside the puppet pile you call a bed and head out into the living room, greeted almost imminently by the ever-cheerful face of puppet Mr. T. gotta give mad props to the man, he’s like, the only guy besides BiggerBro who could sell something as ironically nerdy as World of Warcraft and sell it off as the coolest shit since the invention of the mixtape. Behind him is the living room/BiggerBro’s bedroom where he’s left one of his so-bad-it’s-good ironic video games running. Bro jumps on in his absence and the game breaks almost imminently. Tch, typacOMGWTFBBQWHERETHEFUCKDIDCALCOMEFROM!!!!!!

==>  
*shudder* god, you hate that puppet. Ever since you gave him as a birthday gift to your BiggerBro several years ago, they’ve been inseparable. It’s been…creepy, to say the least. Then BiggerBro started acting weird, and sometimes when it’s quiet at night you can hear the damm thing **talking** and just…nope, not dealing with this b-rate horror film shit, I’m out!

==>  
Sometime during your freakout, Dave got onto BiggerBro’s CPU, and ended up on PlushRump.com. You don’t really have a problem with smuppets like Bro does, they make for perfectly serviceable bedding, and don’t look nearly as promiscuous after supporting your fat, sweaty ass overnight, Their vacant stares lookin more like the thousand-yards of the most grizzled of vets, sittin in the darkest corner of the smokiest of bars, whisky in one hand and cigar in the other, lookin like he’s a part of the scenery, yet if he moves before last call, everybody knows someone’s about to get their shit pushed in through their nostrils-type shit. It’s depressing as fuck. And FUCK CAL MOVED AGAIN FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!! Calm down jerkass, flipping the fuck out at the tiniest of things is not how a strider do, man, so chill.

==>  
Needing some time to regain some of your lost chill, you quickly become LAZARUS and phew, your brother has finally harnessed some modicum of self-control. Now he appears to be furious at the collection of miscreants that are currently fiddling with his collection of items he left outside. Suddenly, the piano lifts off the ground and-NO NOT THE PIANO ROSE WHYYYYYYY!!!!! Not the very thing that you’ve slaved and failed for months on end to create an addition for in preparation for your brother’s birthday! No, no this train of thought will get you nowhere, Lazarus, pull yourself together, man! Wait, where did John, go? Wait, never mind, judging from the trajectory of that telescope, he’s in the bathroom. Deciding that going to the study if probably your best course of action, you head down the hallway to-OH GOD THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!!! 

==>  
In response to this grievous house invasion, your brother saddles up the Green Pogo Ride of Death (where did he get that?!?) and pogoes into the fray. Clearly he’s suicidal. Clearly it’s working. Until it doesn’t. You decide that a significantly more sane option is to fight your way down in a more traditional sense. You take a baseball swing with your walking stick at the first imp, the exquisite harlequin bust it was holding not saving it from tumbling over the railing onto another imp, both of them exploding into drops on impact. Heavy weight, weak skulls, brains burst on impact. Two down. Another throws one of the quartz-like cylinders at you, you bat it down with your backswing before kicking it at the offender. Ow, those things are hard, don’t do that again. The offender’s head burst on impact, and the cylinder breaks, peppering the imps behind it with lethal shards that claim one more. By now the survivors are all unarmed and afraid to approach you within bashing distance. Good. You back up into the study before collapsing to the ground and have to wait for the world to stop spinning….nope, your blacking out now, goodnight sweet prince.

==>  
With the main character incapacitated, the perspective has to default to the nearest viable option. You are now JOHN EGBERT. You are currently distracted by an ethereal voice inside your head asking for a can opener in a rather cordial manner. Other than that, you’re doing absolutely nothing interesting at all.

Lazarus? : be literally anybody else.  
A young girl is asleep in her bedroom. It is nearly pitch black inside, the only light emanating from the open door from a presumably merry fire. The room is filled with the barely-visible silhouettes of birds, lovingly polished blades from all over the world, and an imposing figure in the middle of the room, brandishing a blade of her own. Except you cannot be this girl, for this is neither the time nor the place to be the girl. You must be someone else.

Girl: be John again.  
You are, once again, JOHN EGBERT, and wow, do you feel motivated to fiddle with the new thing that rests where the piano used to! Ok, the inscribed instructions are pretty simple to understand, just decipher the code on the back of the captchalogue card, type it into the machine, and plug a card in. simple enough. You do so with the pogo ride and your trusty claw hammer. On a whim, you attempt to withdraw the items from the punched cards.  
Uh oh. It looks like they’re trapped now. You don't see how you can access the items anymore, or store new items there for that matter. These cards are pretty much useless now, and the items they contain are toast!  
But maybe all is not lost. Recalling from your experience with the PRE-PUNCHED CARD, you may be able to use the cards to replicate the items in question. Assuming you got the codes right, that is... 

==>  
Deciding that you’re having far too much fun with the machine, you type in a random code and plug in the card holding two cans of shaving cream. Mad science is a lot of fun.

*CRASH*

Suddenly, there is a tub in the study and a new exit to the house. This sudden turn of events leads you to take note of your surroundings. There is tar everywhere, as expected with the nature of your various unwanted guests. There is a hole in both the ceiling and the outer wall, the safe that has sat in the corner for as long as you can remember has been busted, and your younger brother is passed out on the ground, right next to where the tub landed. Judging from his semi-steady breathing, his shitty blood knocked him out again. With the room thoroughly examined, you examine the busted safe. Some of your father's odds and ends have spilled out, including some old NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS, and two rather hefty TOMES. It's a fair bet that these books comprised at least half the weight of the safe. The first of the tomes is an original print edition of COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY. A quick scan of the tome reveals it to be very similar to your reprinted copy, listing all the practical jokes and chicanery you have come to know and love. Clearly this copy is in need of closer examination in order to reveal the true depths of the old colonel’s japery. The other book reveals itself to be a copy of THE FATHERLY GENT’S SHAVING ALMANAC. Not the most interesting book at the moment, but maybe once you’re old enough to shave… anyway, the final artefact in this treasure trove is the newspaper clippings. Clearly dad has been collecting them for a while, some of these date back years, and all about random meteor strikes…ominous, considering your current situation. Hey look, a spare captchalogue card! Deciding that it would be pertinent to make more of them, you quickly punch in the code into the designix and input the card into the slot. Then rose chimes in that it would have been smarter to plug in the card onto your sylladex after you got the code, so you’d only lose one card. Thanks for nothing, brain! You throw your hat down in disgust, where it disappears into the black void underneath your house. Captchalogueing the punched captchalogue card (and almost sending the pda after the hat), you stare down the stairs that rose made for you. Although “stairs” may be a bit of an overstatement for the barely large enough for one foot ledges before you. Taking a steading breath, you charge up the stairs and fall off almost imminently. Lousy stupid goddamm stairs.

Lazarus: ignore the imposing arm in favor of freaking out over the bathtub.  
Wh-wha…? What are you-ZOMGWTF HOLY PORCELAIN HIJINKS, BATMAN! FANTASTIC, YOU PASS OUT FOR 5 SECONDS AND YOUR ALMOST CRUSHED TO DEATH BY A GODDAM BATHTUB!!! IS THIS WHOLE HOUSE OUT FOR YOUR BLOOD OR SOMETH-what the fuck is that?

==>  
That, is a giant arm. Which is no doubt attached to a giant person. And, if the tarry disposition is anything to go by, not a friendly one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would get a double feature out in July, and here it is...now i will never, EVER, do that again.


	8. Chapter 8

Your name is ISAAC STRIDER and you have just completed the single most majestic pirouette of the metaphorical handle in the history of majestic pirouettes of the handle. Like, shutout at the Olympic games-level of majestic. You have no idea. Anyway, during your award-winning performance, your Bro wandered off in search of the Beta Disk of Space-Time Fuckery over by BiggerBro’s DJ equipment. As usual, Bro eyes the equipment with naked jealousy. Not that anybody else could tell that’s he’s practically green with envy, but when your only audience is striders…not hidin’ shit from nobody, especially you. A more troubling observation is that one of BiggerBro’s imported-from-japan katanas is missing from the wall… because you need some physical pirouettes of the handle to go with your mental ones. Oh, look, there goes the other one. Fuck.

==>  
You and Bro approach the exit to the room. Huh, looks like one of BiggerBro’s comics is on it.

>ISAAC: read the comic.  
You would, but Bro’s already made short work of it. That’s fine, most of his comics (that aren’t straight up porn) are pretty fucked up anyway, some depth of irony you and Bro just don’t get. Anyway, onto the kitchen.

==>  
Wandering into the kitchen, the first thing you find is the Ironic-As-Fuck CRAPPILY MADE WOODEN SKULL your best bro made for you for your birthday a few years ago. Its soo shitty, it barely looks like a skull!! Fuck, you forgot that thing existed until just now. And you know just what to do with it. Accessing your sylladex, you imminently duck as a giant novelty tazer-mace from that one non-Japanese anime, S.F.R.N. lousy stupid goddamm RNJEGUS modus. Try it again. Ah, that’s what you were looking for. You have no idea where Bro found these BIG-ASS NAILS, but their perfect for the task at hand. You pull the buster sword out from behind the microwave and attach the CRAPPY SKULL to the front of your SHEILD via NINE-INCH NAILS THROUGH EACH OF ITS EYES. Hmm. You know, looking at the sight of a horrifically made skull with nails for eyes isn’t nearly as ironically funny as you thought it would be. Instead… it kinda feels like the universe is laughing at you, like you’ve just made the most ironically suave joke in all of history, except the punchline is you. Meh, that’s normal, you just kinda roll with it. Meanwhile, your Bro has managed to do some major renovation of the kitchen, build a fort out of BiggerBro’s DJ equipment, and bury himself to his neck in puppet ass. You decide you need to be elsewhere to not get caught up in the shit storm that’s about to erupt in the middle of the kitchen.

==>  
You are now LAZARUS, and you are running for your life. Probably. You arrive at the balcony where your brother… has made a rather formidable weapon out of the hammer and the pogo ride. A quick test swing of the pogo-hammer slays a nearby imp in a single blow, but sends him flying in the process. He flies towards the upper roof, where rose catches him with his bed. After he lands he…passes out. Great. Ah well, he’s out of imminent danger up there, so it’s not the worst spot for a nap. However, that still leaves the problem of your own safety, looking at your rather poorly armed and armored state. (weren’t you going to replace your ruined shirt at some point???) well, you have a whole bunch of spare cards, a pointy bit with which you can make the punch holes with, and a computer with which you can make the calculations on where they go. When in mortal peril, improvise.

==>  
You are now ROSE, and watching John punch his cards has given you an idea. If you obtain the code for any item at your disposal, you think you could theoretically send the code to John and he could make it himself. That is, if you can think of anything that would be worth sending to him. You Captchalogue the SBURB SERVER DISK, and flip the card over…to reveal a perfectly blank space where the code should be. God damm it. Then, as if the universe could hear the murphy’s law-inducing though that reflexively passed your mind, the generator dies, leaving you without power to your laptop. Fan-tastic.

==>  
You are now JOHN, and you have just woken up form a rathe refreshing nap. Oh look, your friend jade is pestering you! Your other friends are always trying to convince you that she has powers or something, but you’ve never really seen anything like that from her… anyway, you’re sure a quick conversation won’t be the end of the world!!!(again)  
(this conversation later ==> http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=002552)  
AARGH! Talking to her is soo damm frustrating once starts getting cryptic like that!!! You grab your pogo hammer and get ready to blow off some steam by killing more of those pesky little- wait, what’s that?

==>  
Uh, that’s a really big enemy. That-that’s not good. That’s not good at all. You quickly scamper over to your magic chest, which has found its way to the roof, hoping to find some of your gear that will help you in this confrontation. Finding nothing, you hurry to the highest part of the roof, where you are quickly cornered by the enormous foes perusing you. This is it. You have no choice but to wage a fierce rooftop battle. This is totally going to happen now, and could in no way conceivably be interrupted by a sudden shift in our attention. It's go time. It's time to do this thing.

==>  
You are now ISAAC. It looks like BiggerBro is out for blood today. You quickly follow Bro out onto the rooftops, shield at the ready as shit starts to go-  
PSYCHE!!!  
A young girl stands in her gar-  
OH WAIT  
X2 DOUBLE PSYCHEOUT COMBO!!!  
( you do realize that the perspective shifts have gotte-)  
FUCK YOU I DO WHAT I WANT!!!  
==>  
You are now the Wayward Vagabond. You have been trapped in this metal construct for an unknown amount of time. You are starting to become rather hungry. There are cans all about, although you have no method of opening them. You have inquired into the acquisition of a can opener online, but nothing has come of that venture. What shall you do?

>WV: become the mayor of can town  
As the glorious founder and mayor of CAN TOWN, you erect a dignified, majestic CITY HALL out of cans, fittingly capped off with a tome of good manners for the roof. You have given yourself a very official and important looking MAYORAL SASH made of old cables to complete your look of authority. Several rather civic-minded CITIZEN CANS gather in front of the building to offer adulation to their fair and magnanimous leader. All is well. You immerse yourself in this beautiful dream as you whittle away the minutes, or perhaps hours. You truly love the concept of mayors, and the democratic process that they represent. It all seems to run so smoothly, what with everyone being friendly to one another, and with a government based on mutual respect between its people and their leader. Westward expansion reveals there to be a can of motor oil, a firefly trapped in amber, and a box of chalk. all of which make great improvements to your burgeoning town

==>  
Deciding to fiddle with the giant computer, as you had done in the past until recently, you discover another secret of the metal construct. Several cans of sugary nirvana later, you decide to type some commands into the giant computer. And then lock yourself out of the computer by entering the wrong command, leaving you staring at an ominous countdown. With that event concluded, you go back to being the mayor. You successfully waste 4 hours in this pursuit, before deciding it is necessary to leave can town in search of an exit. Upon coming to the location that you entered from, the door slams shut behind you, and a metal grate slam shut overhead. Deciding with nothing better to do than to investigate the metal construct further, you select another room from the LCD panel on the closed door. Oops, looks like that one is locked. Trying the other room puts you just outside a large metal construct. It has two large screens, but only one appears to be active. There are fields for numbers which appear to be modifiable with the dials to the right. Some numbers are already supplied by default, perhaps entered by the previous user. There are a few buttons below, the largest one bearing the symbol marking this room. Also it looks like there is a METER STICK propped up there for some reason. You decide to press the largest button on the machine, which proceeds to appearify a pumpkin. Clearly this machine is designed to grab objects from any point in time and at any location. A different button sets the location to that of the center of the facility, which a quick appearification of your trusty mail-flipper knife proves. You decide to free the firefly from her amber prison. Upon release, Serenity(her new name) blinks an urgent message. You had forgotten that she had been in the other room with you, meaning that she has a good estimate on how much time you have left to escape. Which is not much. Packing quickly, you scramble up the central ladder… only to get thrown off it as the entire structure-  
-P$YC:*ERR*  
\-- A CRITICAL SYSTEMS FAILURE WAS DETECTED AT _SBURB_PERSPECTIVE_SWITCHER. THE PROGRAM WAS TERMINATED TO PREVENT MEMORY LOSS--

I warned you what would happen if you put too much strain on the perspective switcher, now the perspective is stuck on the character that you put in to arbitrarily move the plot along without involving the main characters.   
hey, fuck you!!! The mayors an awesome character!!! Just because you don’t care about the minor characters doesn’t mean they’re not important!!!  
I must remind you that I am only capable of viewing events in the most objective way possible. I cannot take value in sentiments, nor can I read minds.   
we’ve discussed this already; the answer is still no.   
your insistence to keeping the details of your work so close to your chest is counterproductive to our overall goal.   
such insistence on secrecy until the last possible minute is not very conductive coding, as seen with this latest disaster.   
hey, this was not my problem until you MADE it my problem.   
I realize that.   
I also realize that you do not care for my methods of universe preservation/crafting.   
however, surly it would be in your best interest to make my part of our job easier, even if so you no longer have to associate with me???   
from my perspective, it almost seems  
like your making this up as you go along.   
you don’t really have a concrete plan as to stabilize our universe(s), don’t you.   
I have half a plan, thank you very much!!! That’s better than what you have!!!   
…  
truly, I should feel enraged and betrayed by this, but I don’t feel anything.   
so I will say this: manipulating the coding of one universe is an exceedingly difficult task, what I am having to do here is several orders of magnitude harder than that. I realize that from your perspective that this is a problem of my own creation hoisted upon your universe by my apathic take on survival, But I am trying to fix this error, and your efforts to quote-unquote “punish me for my mistakes” at every corner are inhibiting my efforts to keep both of our universes alive.   
I ask that I receive a little bit of cooperation for you, so that we can both walk away from this mess at the end.   
please.   
… fine, but only so I don’t have to look at your ugly blue text for longer than I have to!!! 


End file.
